Lies for the NonBelievers
by Pagmie
Summary: Harry finds Gryffindors have no monopoly on bravery, nor Slytherins on cunning as he reassess himself and his friendships in an attempt to survive the war. This fic is not HBP or DH Compliant, and may contain minor HP and DM slash. AU Sixth year fic
1. Look not for relief

Story Notes

Looking for a beta, preferably one with a good knowledge of canon, as mine is somewhat weak

I own no rights to this story, mores the pity, and I urge you all to support the woman who does.

I am no writer, this is just a fun project, and my first fanfic

I know the chapters are short, it is just easier to write regular short ones at the moment

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Harry straightened up, and brushed his hair, already damp with perspiration, off his face, and kicked the trowel with frustration. "If only I could do magic" he thought, and looked out at the empty road, tarmac gleaming wetly in the stifling heat, considering the possibility.

He knew he couldn't though, knew the risks it would carry, expulsion, another hearing in front of the wizengamot, which would mean seeing that evil woman again, and possibly a trip to azkaban this time round, so with a grimace he knelt back down on the baking earth, and dug the trowel into it angrily, pulling at the roots of yet another weed, jealous of hi cousin Dudley sitting indoors in the cool freshness of the air-conditioned house, probably as glued to the TV as ever.

He looked carefully around himself, hopeful that he would see the slight shimmer in the air that denoted apparition, possibly of one of the order guards he was sure would be watching him, but there was nothing but the movement of the ongoing heat haze. He frowned, and glanced at the sun to check the time. It was only about 2pm. He had been up at 4am, hoping to finish the outdoor work before the sun fully rose, but to no avail, as his uncle had simply given him more, wanting to get all the work he could out of the boy during the only holiday he ever returned to the place he had to call home.

In a burst of frustration, he pulled out his wand, and accio'd ever weed he could see. He then sent charmed water over all the plants, not caring if any of the muggles walking down the street a short distance away heard his frustrated cry of "aquamenti" and stormed indoors, tired of how unfair his uncle was, and how much worse he was treated than his privilaged cousin. He banged past the lounge, not caring if his uncle or aunt saw or heard him, and sure enough, he heard his Uncle Vernon bellow immediately "Boy, get back to your work in the garden, you worthless layabout". Harry winced, he had heard his uncle, 'Uncle-by-marriage' he thought fiercely, call his parents that same name far too many times to be comfortable with hearing himself called it, also due to the parallel it drew between him and his father, a man he was trying now to understand, almost fifteen years from the grave.

He shrugged, and walked on. He was not by any means physically imposing, but his hands were in his baggy jeans pockets, a quiet threat to his uncle that he could and would hex him if he continued. "Ungrateful boy, gave you the food of my table and the clothes off my sons back" came his uncle's bellow from the lounge, as he walked past the door of the cupboard that had once been his bedroom. The next thing he remembered, he was near the top of the stair, lying on his belly wondering why he wasn't wearing his school-robes, and where his bag was.

It had been black when he fell, but mentally, he brushed that off, and grabbed the banister to haul himself upright. Stumbling to his room and pulling the doorknob, he let himself into the space that he was continually reminded was a massive privilege, and that he had no right to it when his precious cousin wanted it so much, and slumped on the bed, waving his wand at the door to lock it. He looked to the barred window, expecting an owl to be pecking at the glass by now, another warning from the Ministry of Magic, Improper Use of Magic department, Mafilda Hopkirk if he remembered correctly, but there was none. Yet another weird thing that was happening in this time when he had no contact with the wizarding world but his textbooks, and anything his friends deigned to send him, on the rare occasions they actually had time to.

And yes, he was angry, angry that the occasional owls he received from people whom he had believed were close friends told of how much fun they were having, Ron and Hermione together at the Burrow, and that nobody else had even sent him anything. What was with Ron and Hermione anyway? Why on earth were they sending him joint letters, rather than seperate ones as every other summer they had. "They don't have the time" he decided, and felt even more alienated. He checked his digital watch, yet another castoff from his cousin, and realised in two days he would be sixteen. When he returned to Hogwarts, he would be going into his sixth year, he would be working for his NEWTS, for Christ's sake, and yet he couldn't spend the summer with his friends, being a normal teenager, living. If Voldemort was going to kill him, he would anyway, right? Who even knew if the wards could stop him? Nobody, so why was he hiding away in a corner of his bedroom, the Chosen One, sulking? He knew his family wouldn't celebrate, or what he called his family anyway, and he didn't expect owls telling him much, so his birthday would be just more of the same drudgery and loneliness as the rest of the summer had turned out to be.

He walked to his window again, wondering where on earth the owl was that was to tell him he was expelled, an outcast from the wizarding world, whatever, he no longer cared. The last time he had done magic in Little Whinging, he had a full hearing in front of the Wizengamot, yet this time, nothing. He put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out first his wand, then, from the other pocket a small box. The box was testament to Hermione's skills, weighing in at about 800 grams, far heavier than it appeared, but still very light. Even under observation, this box seemed to be a miniature version of his Hogwarts trunk.

Tapping it twice with his wand though, it grew, both in size and weight, crushing his legs, until shoved it crashing to the floor and wonder why he hadn't put it on the floor to start with. "What's that noise, boy?" the shout came up the stairs, in Uncle Vernon's usual aggressive tones. Harry checked the door was locked, and sure enough it was, as his uncle rattled the handle, and yelled "Let me in, Boy". Harry remained silent, and eventually Vernon moved away, tired of shouting, and Harry eased the lid of his trunk open, feeling a wave of homesickness for Hogwarts pass over him.

He wished again for some wizardspace, so he could fit everyhting in without packing his cauldron with underwear, but even Hermione was not skilled enough to magic that into his trunk, so instead of wishing for what he couldn't have, he rifled through it, sending carefully packed clothes flying across the room. He looked longingly at his robes, wishing he could wear at least them, to feel somewhat connected to the world he inhabited from September to July, but imagined his families faces if he wore them, and the punishments he would be sure to receive, and chose not to. He did like to eat occasionally over the summer. He looked through the trunk at his jeans, t-shirts, trainers, clothes that him rather than being eight sizes too big, but knew even that would antagonise his relatives, who would wonder where his money had come from so he sent them all flying into a mound in the corner, and pulled out a quill, ink, and parchament.

He had originally planned to start on some letters to his friends, but he felt he would seem sad and aimless if he wrote them yet again, considering neither of his last missives had recieved replies so he instead dug out his defence texts, and began flicking idly through them looking for spells to teach the DA when he returned to Hogwarts. He wished his OWL results had come, but they were not due for a week yet. Still, when he got them, he would be able to sign up for some classes, and get some work to do, to distract himself. Who would have thought that he would want holiday work?

He grabbed at a beaker that was normally used for Hedwig's water, and spelled aquamenti at it, to refill it. He then grabbed it, and downed the water, repeating this a couple of times, trying to re-hydrate himself, after a day in the baking heat. That must have been the cause for his momentary blackout, he assured himself, and smiled, feeling somewhat better already. He wished though, that he had something to do. Something that he associated with magic. Something that would make him feel a part of the world he was expected to be saviour of. This was more frustrating than he would ever have imagined, and he found himself dreaming happily of Hogwarts, the only place he had ever really thought of as home. He found himself drifting mentally through the corridors, and, surprisingly, relaxing in a potions lesson. Right now, he would happily handle Snape's personal sarcastic brand of cruelty, or even the relentless bullying he got from Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, to be back there, to be living somewhere he felt safe, to be living somewhere he felt at home.

He knew theoretically that his house at the Dursleys was as safe as he could be, protected by the blood wards his mother had left him, and that he was at far more risk in the wizarding world than he was here, because in the wizarding world everybody knew who he was, and information on his whereabouts he was sure could easily be bought there, but still he thought he would rather be surrounded by people with wands that could be used to protect him than people who would quite happily see the back of him.

Harry's stomach rumbled, he was hungry, and he wished one of Mrs Weasley's care packages would arrive, but to no avail, he never normally received one until his birthday anyway. Still, that was just two days away now. He then considered going downstairs to get some food, but there was no way he would be allowed any, not after the day he had had, and if he tried he would get a cuf or an earful, so it wasn't even really worth trying. Drinking some more water, and stripping to his boxer shorts, he lay on his bed, transfiguring the mouldy blanket to a crisp sheet as a summer covering and decided to try and get some sleep, to hurry up his birthday coming.

After tossing and turning for about an hour, he thought that if sleep would hurry his birthday up, he might as well stay awake. He had no expectations, no reason to believe that this birthday would be any better than previous ones, that this one would make him want to be alive, so why build it into something he was sure it couldn't be, instead of treating it like just another day. An image flew into his head of a big black dog, and he let one tear escape, before blocking the thoughts of his godfather from his mind. He walked to the window and looked out at the sky, it was only dusk, he had not been in his room for that long even. The sky was red, and there was a golden cloud, not dissimilar to the Dark Mark placed in the sky. He paced to the end of his small room and back, his bare feet rough against the floorboards, but it made it no later, and made him no less restless.

Considering rummaging in his trunk for some wizarding cards, or his gobstones set, he wandered over to it, but knew it would make him feel worse, feel more isolated to be sitting fiddling with the games he invariably played with Ron when he was in here on his own, and what would be the point anyway, so he sat instead in a corner of his room, watching, staring out as the night fell, and wishing that for once, people actually showed that they cared, that they were actually there for the "hero of the wizarding world" when he needed them most.

Who would have thought it, the famous Harry Potter, sitting in a cold room, drinking water out his owl's beaker, with no contact with the wizarding world for days, with nothing. What would Rita Skeeter write now? Harry giggled, amused by that thought, and climbed into his bed, staring at the ceiling, he had had an idea.

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Reviews always very welcome, and for this chapter, individual responses are guaranteed (if I can work out the reviews system anyway)


	2. Hurt from beyond the veil

Sadly, Harry Potter and co do not belong to me

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The next morning, Harry awoke to find that the letter warning him about his use of magic had still not arrived, and became slightly anxious, because surely even the Ministry of Magic should be able to get an automated owl sent out to him by that time, but chose to do nothing about it. He rather wished Hedwig was not at Grimmauld Place, or the Burrow, or wherever she was now, because he could do with some company, but he then laughed at himself for missing the company of an owl. It wasn't like she would respond if he spoke to her after all, but then again it wasn't like he would be desperate ehough to talk to an owl either.

It was his birthday tomorrow as well, he would soon be sixteen, and as Hedwig had not returned, he could only hope she was at the Burrow to carry back a food package to him, as Errol was too old and weak to carry it, and Pigwidgeon too small and careless. The idea of a food package sounded pretty good to him right now, he thought, as his stomach clenched and rumbled loudly at him, and he could really do with a slice of Mrs Weaseley's cake.

It was quite light already, it was later than it felt, and Harry wondered where the Dursleys had actually gone, because they were being unusually quiet. After a few minutes, he became quite anxious, and looked out of the window to see where the car was, but there was no sign of it. Probably either a trick on him, or a day out he thought, and relaxed, hoping it would be the latter, because it would put his Uncle in a far better mood, and he stared out instead onto the apparently empty road, still shimmering in a heat haze, wishing Dumbledore hadn't made him give up his invisibility cloak for the summer. He wanted to go out for a bit of a walk, but knew he was dead meat without it, now that the Death Eaters had a good idea where the house was even if they didn't use it, and that Dumbledore must have taken it away from him to prevent him from going for a walk.

He wondered if there were any other members of the Order, but he could see nobody, not that they'd be in full view anyway, so looked indoors again. Just as he did that, he was hit with a massive pain to his scar, agony writhing through his body and, and he fell flat on the floor, face down, as a million iron spikes drove into his skull, leaving him consumed by pain. He screamed out, but nobody came, so he instead tried retreating from the spikes. They then came on harder and faster until he suddenly realised the purpose of his lesson with Snape, raised his wand, and called out "Occulmens". Nothing happened, but a cold, cruel laugh started in his head, high, frightening, pleased, as if relieved by his failure to protect himself. He didn't know what to do, and he was still contorted in agony. His scar hadn't hurt like this for a long time. He couldn't work out, when he came round, how long he had been lying there, trying to keep his mind his own. Still, eventually he felt the pressure withdraw. His thoughts were his own again, his mind was his sanctuary.

He knew though that he needed to contact Dumbledore, and fast. Hedwig however still hadn't returned, despite him wishing that the blasted owl would, the muggle mail took a few days, and would it know where Hogwarts or 12, Grimmauld Place even was, and his house was no longer connected to the Floo after the disaster when the Weaseley's got stuck behind the fireplace. He thought about his firebolt, but quickly realised even that was not an option, as his precious broomstick was still locked away from when Professor Umbridge confiscated it. He took his wand out of his pocket, and did a "Point Me" spell towards the North, to check roughly where Scotland was, in order to aim it in the right direction. "Accio broom" he said, but no broomstick came, not that he had believed it would.

Instead he stopped to think about what else he could do, but the only method of wizard travel remaining was either a flying carpet (low, illegal, impractical) or apparation, and he had no way of doing that, no idea how to do it, nothing. In his frustration, an idea hit him, and he realised that he had, hidden in his trunk, the mirror that Sirius had given him. Sirius. Harry let the memories of his godfather spill into himself, after blocking them for so long, and lay on his bed, head down, crying his eyes out. In his head though, he could hear Snape's voice, as sarcastic, cruel and cutting as ever "This is no time for histrionics Potter".

Taking a gasping breath, Harry walked over to his trunk, and dug his hands deep into the layer of junk that lay in there. His fingers searched until they found the broken fragments of glass belonging to the mirror, but one cut painfully across his left palm. "Reparo" had no effect on his own skin it appeared, so he tore a strip off his t-shirt and used that as a bandage to stop the bleeding, or at least slow it down some.

He collected all the fragments of the broken mirror together, and then used the "reparo" spell again, this time with effect, as the shards of glass and silver moulded together, back into one mirror. The handle he saw, on closer examination, now had a beautiful scaled design on it, reminiscent of a snake. He wondered why that was, but had no ideas, so instead decided it was just odd. Still, this image of a snake was clearly enough to make him speak parseltongue, he thought, as his mouth made the familiar yet different movements, and that might, maybe someday, come in useful, even if only he and Voldemort could speak it. He looked into the mirror anyway, careful to speak English, and saw nothing but his own reflection staring back at him. Wasn't the mirror working? Harry panicked, how else was he meant to get hold of Dumbledore, of someone from the Order, of anyone who could actually help him right now. Somebody needed to know about his scar, it was important he was sure.

He shouted into the mirror, but there was no response. Then he could hear noises, trunks shuffling. He continued shouting, realising the mirror must have been in Sirius' bedroom, and that as nobody went there on a regular basis, he must have been heard. Suddenly, Snape's face replaced his own, but then a voice that was neither of theirs came to both of them, as Harry could tell by his teachers face. The voice, one that Snape knew well, although Harry barely recognised, was his fathers. "Oy Snivellus, get your greasy hair out of our mirrors, or you won't know what's hexed you, oh, and, I know a charm that might turn your disgusting nose into something better, like a snout". Harry's heart twisted as he heard Sirius' laughter in the enchanted mirrors, then further as Snape blushed beet red and turned away.

This was stupid, he thought angrily, pretty certain also that Snape had been unable to either see or hear him, but would have known instantly that it was him. Who else would have a mirror that personally insulted him in his worst enemies voices? Okay, so he hated the man, for getting his Godfather killed, but this was mad. Harry winced, feeling the man's pain, then remembered how evil Snape was, and smiled instead.

But Sirius, he couldn't quite believe it, believe his Godfather was truly dead. It felt wrong, ludicrous, he laughed, trying to shrug it off, looking in the mirror again, and hoping for a response from Sirius. If he was honest, that was what he had been looking for all along, and he knew now that he had no chance of getting it, no chance of ever seeing Sirius again. He stood up, and imagined returning to Grimmauld Place, waklking along the road by it, watching the house appear, and as he stood, he turned round.

Gasping, Harry was gripped with a squeezing sensation, his ribs were being crushed, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, he realised he was accidentally apparating. Keeping his mind firmly on Grimmauld Place, he tried not to panic, but it hurt when your body was being pulled in two. Colours shot past him, until, suddenly, he fell, and what he had been imagining only seconds earlier became reality, as the house moved out from between the other two, and number twelve bulged into place.

Harry had, through years of Quidditch, and longer years of avoiding his uncle, developed very good senses, especially for danger, so when the air shimmered to his left, he pulled his wand and sent a Stunner at the patch. As the body collapsed to the ground, he recognised it with horror, it was a Death Eater, it was Bella. How had she known where to apparate to, when, and would reinforcements be on their way?

As that thought occurred to him, someone apparated right beside him, grabbing his wrist in a tight grip, and the next thing he knew, he was shooting through the air again, as clenched as before, and a thousand times more afraid.

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Yes, cliffhanger I know, but an update will be soon

Still looking for a beta, preferably one with a lot of canon knowledge


	3. Reflected

I own no rights to these characters or settings, they all belong to Ms Rowling, and various book and film companies.

Still beta-hunting, please, anyone?

Another short chapter, but at least you're getting regular updates ;)

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Harry landed hard on the ground somewhere he didn't recognise in the slightest, with tall trees, and a large grey stone house, his back to his abductor. He reached for the wand in his pocket instinctively, but as he touched for it, he became aware of the hand that was grasping his shoulder, long fingers gripping him, forcing him to turn around. With a sense of foreboding he did so, and he looked into the furious eyes of his potions master. Snape looked back at him, conveying anger and hatred in his glance, and Harry immediately started babbling "I'm sorry Sir, I didn't mean to I was thinking about Grimmauld Place it was an accident, I didn't mean to apparate I don't even know how, I didn't do anything I'm sorry". Instead of looking angrier, as Harry had assumed, Snape adopted the cold, hard look Harry recognised of him when he returned to Hogwarts after going out for the evening.

For the first time since the abduction, Harry really had concerns about whom his teacher was loyal to, and tried to hide them. Snape looked into his eyes, and sent a probe into Harry's brain. Harry tried to focus on thoughts of how accidental his appearance at Grimmauld Place really was, and after a few moments, Snape nodded, and tensing himself up, as if the idea of even touching Harry was despicable, grabbed the boy, before apparating again. Harry realised, as he stumbled to a landing back outside Privet Drive, that the master hadn't said a word yet. Snape turned, his robes billowing, and disappeared again.

This left Harry feeling faintly sad and surprised at that sadness.How on earth could he miss the teacher that made his life a misery all the time he was at school? Luckily his aunt and uncle's car was still gone, and he raised his wand, sending an "alohoroma" shooting at the front door. With horror though, he realised that the blood wards stopped him using magic to force an entry from outside. He was trapped. Nothing he tried would work, not even levitating branches and thrusting them at windows, it was as if there was a shield around the house. He heard a soft snort of laughter, and spun round but could not see where it had come from. Crossing the road, he briskly headed towards Arabella Figg's house, knowing she was a contact with the wizarding world, and had a floo-connected fireplace, but she was out, and although she was a squib, the usual magic rules prevented him entering her house. He swore he could hear the same snort again, but he still couldn't work out who it was.

Just as he decided to try and reveal the person using magic, he heard the familiar roar of his aunt and uncles car. Vernon could see Harry on the doorstep, and even as Dudley laughed, he turned beet red, and shouted "Boy, what are you doing, get back in the house" Harry didn't dare even reach for his wand, as his beefy uncle emerged from the building and powered for the terrified child. "Get back indoors NOW you FREAK". Harry tried the door, but it remained locked. He shuffled round, until his back was to the green wood, and he was pressed against it, sweating with far more fear than he had had when he was being apparated half-way around the country, this muggle could inspire far more fear than he had ever had of Voldemort.

His uncle raised a fist, and as he swung it at Harry's head, Harry ducked, and the punch instead splintered the wood of the door, breaking right through it. Harry took advantage of this, and pushed his body through the weakened entry with sheer force of will. Dudley came up behind his father, looking amused at Harry's terror, but also rather scared of either Harry or his father, neither were quite sure. As his hand grasped at his enormous backside, Harry smiled to himself, remembering the pigs tail, before being brought back to harsh reality by a kick from Vernon. Yet again, he was on the floor, another brief blackout, and he didn't think he was dehydrated this time either. He shrank from the expected kick, and was shocked to instead hear his uncle shout, as if from a long way away "Stand up you freak". Painfully, Harry pulled himself to his feet, and held the edge of the banister to keep himself upright.

"What were you doing out of the house?" came Aunt Petunia's clipped tones, and this time Harry was too exhausted to even try and make up an excuse, he had no energy left to think on his feet with. "I don't know" he answered honestly, he had no idea why he had apparated then, or how it had happened wandless, incantationless, and totally by accident. "You stop this freakish behaviour right now Harry, or…" "Or what?" retorted Harry, "you know if you hurt me I can get my friends don't you" "They wouldn't hurt us" said Vernon confidently, "the need us because you have to live here to be safe from Voldything. Get outside." Harry looked horrified and scared, he couldn't be outside, because of the warding,a nd how did his uncle know about that anyway? Wasn't it secret order business? Dudley just laughed, amused by Harry's terror and uncertainity, and by the fact that his cousin had nowhere to go. "Last summer you almost got Dudley killed. Get OUT" screamed his uncle, and Harry moved as if to respond.

Petunia shook her head, and faced Vernon with a look of anger on her own face. Dudley looked from one to the other, still amused, but also scared by this standoff. To Harry's horror, sparks began emanating from his aunt. This wasn't right, surely. Petunia had no magic did she? Wasn't his aunt a mudblo…muggleborn? He was frozen with anxiety, not sure what to do, as they glared at each other. "JUST STOP IT" screamed his cousin though, and when they turned round, Dudley was crying. "Dudders darling, nobody's throwing you out" said his mother more gently, and the fury was over. Vernon stalked into the kitchen, and slumped by a counter with a beer, and Petunia gestured quickly at the staircase, catching Harry's eye before taking her distraught son into the lounge, and sitting with him. Harry understood the gesture, and ran up the stairs, before collapsing on his bed, and checking the damage, cuts and bruises.

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Once Snape had returned Harry to his aunt and uncles, he did not then disapparate away, as Harry had assumed, simply let go of the child, and swung Harry's invisibility cloak over himself, there was no way he was letting the boy be outside unguarded. Admittedly, he also had a level of morbid curiosity over what the boy's guardians were like, but not enough to make him want to spend any time in the boy's presence. "Idiot Gryffindor, apparating by accident, how stupid, how could he, risked my cover, and for what? Who does he think he is, anyway" Snape mumbled to himself, trying to release some of his anger, before chuckling quietly at Harry's attempts to get into the house. Didn't the child realise that the blood wards would prevent him entering through magical means? The only way the ginger Weaseley's had got in was because Harry had, technically, invited them. And as he hadn't invited himself in, how could he get in. Didn't the child have any understanding whatsoever of proper wizarding culture? Snape snorted again, amused by the fact that all the boy had to do was invite himself into the house, or enter with muggle means, and he could do it.

Just then, a large range rover rumbled towards Snape, and he darted out of the road, falling onto the kerb just outside the house, but managing to stay covered by the invisibility cloak. The car pulled up, and an enormous man got out, followed by an equally sized boy, and just as Snape was wondering how on earth Harry managed to be so thin, a pinched woman got out, looking, his heart wrenched, as if she was Lilly's sister. He then recoiled in shock at their responses to Harry. He had been cruel, he had hated the child's arrogance and bullying manner, but this, this was beyond that. He saw through it back to his own childhood, and recognised it in Harry, and with that saw the belief that the manipulative Dumbledore was a saviour.

As Vernon punched through the door by Harry's head, Snape disapparated, confused and disoriented by what he had seen, and by how different it was from his perceptions of the boy's life. He apparated near Grimmauld Place, and walked into the kitchen, slumped at the cracked wood table, lost for words. He had never thought that the Boy-Who-Fucking-Never-Died could live like that, and it forced him to reassess.

Suddenly, he wondered what he was doing, sitting at that table, when the boy could be being hurt. He apparated back to Privet Drive, swathed in the cloak and with his wand at the ready, feeling that however much he hated the child, he wasn't going to allow this to happen, but there was no noise, just deadly silence and the blistering hole in the door.


	4. Not so different

I own none of the rights to this story

Still beta-hunting

Harry lay curled up on his bed, watching his digital clock as the numbers ticked over. As the luminescent red figures flashed 12:00:01, he murmered to himself "Happy fucking birthday", before pulling his swollen, bruised and bloodstained body to the window, but he could see no owls flying towards him with birthday wishes or otherwise, so he went to his trunk, and pulled out "Hogwarts, A History" determined that as this, if anything could, would make him sleep, he might as well read some of it, and he knew Hermione would be thrilled if he did. Pretty soon though, as he leant forward, his head fell into the vellum pages, and he was asleep.

The next morning, he awoke, but was unable to move, his body aching so much. He lay in a ball on his bloodied sheets, waiting for an impetus to move, but none came. His door was locked, and he ignored the shouts of his family to emerge, preferring instead to nurse his poor, sore body. Eventually though, he heard something that did make him respond, although when he had, he wished he hadn't.

At the time though, he didn't realise that, and the sound of an owl pecking the window was enough to awake him, and more so when he realised it was a beautiful trim hawk.

He opened the window eagerly, and the bird clearly held a letter, in a lovely parchement roll, wax sealed. Somebody hadn't forgotten his birthday. As soon as the letter had been taken off the magnificent bird's leg, it flapped its wings and soared away from him, meaning he was powerless to send a response. With a level of excitement, he opened the letter, just to feel crushed as the note that he had expected to be birthday wishes instead was a message from his most hated teacher.

_Potter_

_It may be the holidays but that in no way excuses your Gryffindor carelessness. See me after the welcoming feast for your first detention._

_Prof. Snape_

Harry felt even lower and more abandoned than he had before, reading and rereading that curt missive hopefully, and wishing that it was almost anything but that. One tear dripped onto the neat parchment, and he returned to his bed, shivering even in the heat. He was an outcast. All year he was an outcast, he had had a horrible year, he nursed the still red scar of "_I must not tell lies_", adding to his collection of identifying marks. Harry wrapped himself in the blanket and pushed himself into the corner, shielding as best he could from everyone else. He didn't want this, he didn't want the fame, he just wanted to be safe. Harry couldn't believe that he was sixteen, and that the next birthday he would be of age, he would be an adult. He shrunk further under the covers, pretending it was just another day

Ron and Hermione finished their letters to Harry, despite that they were hoping to see him tomorrow, they wanted to be able to give him some kind of birthday message, the idea that they cared, even if they couldn't see him that day, and he would get his present the next.

Reading back through them, they looked at what they had wrote

_Dear Harry_

_How is your summer going?_

_Mine is superb, I have had a lovely time here at the Burrow, even with all the stringent anti-attack preparations. I am, however, very anxious about my OWL results, being certain that I made a mistake on the Defence Against the Dark Arts paper, and also concerned that I won't have got the marks I wanted to continue in Potions. I believe our OWL results are due to arrive in a few days now, and am looking forward to being able to choose my subjects._

_Have you started on your holiday homework, or are you waiting for it to be set rather than predicting what it will be? I have predicted work for all my subjects, and hence completed it, which is a relief, and I am now reading an excellent book "The wizard-muggle relationship between Grindelwald and Hitler". Sadly, at only 3327 pages, it can of course only offer an overview, but it still makes for excellent reading. I can lend you my copy, if it will appeal, when we all get a chance to meet next (but Ron's shushing me about that, so I shall say no more). _

_I will sign off now, as Mrs Weaseley was going to teach me the basic cooking and cleaning spells, some things you just don't pick up, coming from a muggle household_

_Take care, and see you soon_

_Very happy birthday, and you'll get your present, again when we meet._

_Hermione_

Ron's letter was a lot simpler, he thought, having read through what his friend had written, but then Hermione, and simple, didn't go together.

Hermione took his, and read it, as both were checking that there were no order secrets given away.

_Hi Harry_

_Hermy bugged me to write you a letter, and errol's gonna take them both, as a bit of a birthday message though youre getting your presents when we see each other next. That okay mate? I hope your summer with the horrible muggles is going well, id hate it, but I know youre used to their bullshit. Have a good birthday, wont you? Um, yeah, this summer has been pretty good so far, been nice not having perce hanging about, but I miss the twins. Bill came home for a few days but he has a flat in London now, and a ladyfriend, wondering who that is eh? Charlie ent been back, hes still in Romania, so its just me and ginny, and hermy of course, but its ok, ginny and I have done load of quidditch_

_Hermy is on at me about holiday work, but theres no point in just guessing whats gonna be set is there really, just wait for the dreaded owls._

_See ya soon_

Just as Hermione tied the two missives to Errol's leg, Dumbledore walked in, and took the owl. Hermione looked at him, a question in her face, and he said "Sorry, but I can't risk you two giving away order business, so can you hold off sending your letters? We're getting Harry out of there tomorrow, he's coming to Grimmauld Place for the rest of the summer, so why don't you two go and pack what you will want for your time there"

Ron retorted angrily "He's my mate, it's his birthday, are we really going to leave him alone with those awful muggles", forgetting he had been reluctant even to take the time off Quidditch to write Harry a message, but Hermione shushed him, realising the aged headmaster was right, and went back to her book, not thinking of their friend. It wasn't so much that they didn't want Harry around, as that they were quite tired of getting into danger with him, and that he would definitely be hard to be around following the death of Sirius, and to be honest, Harry in one of his black moods was something she'd rather not experience with any regularity.

Severus leaned back in a chair, and wondered how he could have been so stupid as to apparate the boy to his house? He had risked his cover, and risked Harry as well, by taking him to a place that was not secured against Voldemort, albeit taking Harry there briefly. And what had he seen with the muggles as well, it was abominable. Didn't those people realise Harry would be the saviour of the wizarding world? Snape cut himself off. He wasn't meant to think of Harry like that. It was dangerous, and anyway, wasn't the boy just like his father? James?

For the first time it occurred to Snape that the boy could look like his father, but take after his mother as well, and that if he wasn't more careful, he could end up taking after his uncle. They couldn't have that.

Snape assured himself that this was purely professional, a concern about the war, not the child, even as he scribbled a note to the boy, ostensibly giving him detention, but in reality wanting to make sure he got checked out by Madam Pomfrey as soon as possible. These wounds would have healed by then, but, and Snape hated to think it, there might be others.

He ran through in his mind various forms of magic, and thought about charming a mirror to watch the house somehow. He then remembered, yet again, strange how easy he seemed to find it to forget, that he hated the boy, hated the idiot Gryffindor, and hated even more the child's father, godfather, substitute godfather, hated everything connected to "Potter".

Thanks for reading, all, and hope you are enjoying it. Sorry there was a day between updates, real life keeps getting in the way

Chapters are hovering at about 1500 words, but that way I can try and get them up regularly


	5. Construction and confusion

Sorry for the delay in updating – I have nothing written ahead, and I had an exam this week, and I got another exam result back (Astar- go me!)

There will be a delay also next week, as I am going away for 4 days, but I will have two long train journeys, so expect some lengthy writings

Might be a slightly longer passage than normal though, as an apology… (I got carried away with plans, and with descriptions… it was fun)

Still hunting for a beta, anyone willing to have a go?

Also, please review "begs" I can still guarantee individual responses, and critical reviews are very welcome

So, none of this is mine, so go nick it from its real owner ;-)

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Dumbledore straightened in his chair, desperate to retain the impression he gave people that he was still well, and not facing the weaknesses of old age yet, but he was struggling to do so, and people who knew him better, like dear old Minerva, who was not in excellent health herself, and young Severus, whom he kept sending off to destruct further, gave him hard looks, they knew he was no longer young and charismatic, despite the appearance he attempted to project and that he was probably only still alive for the purposes of the war, that the strength he was drawing on was now growing weak.

The Order was discussing the fidelius charm placed on Grimmauld Place, as Dumbledore, the secret keeper said he was sure that people on the dark side knew it was him, making him more of a target, and that it was stupid anyway to have a secret-keeper of his age, because the protection would break if he died, so the secret keeper needed to be someone unlikely to up and do that.

They were talking about options, Dumbledore suggesting having two secret keepers who needed to both tell someone, but people declined that, pointing out that in an emergency, it would take twice as long, and Diggle insisted it should be Harry, because it was his house after all, or at least that Harry should decide. Tonks thought Moody would be good, but the ex-auror said he was too much of a target.

In short, nobody quite knew who would be appropriate. Minerva and Dumbledore consulted, and suggested it should be someone on Hogwarts grounds, because then they would be protected by the superb warding surrounding the school, but still everybody thought they knew what was best, making reaching a rational decision impossible. They decided to leave it for the time being, and see what happened, and so, as always, nobody was contented.

"And the last item on our agenda is to discuss warding Grimmauld Place for Harry's visit, and how to get him here safely" said Dumbledore in a firm tone.

There were a few surprised looks, not least from Severus, because people had assumed he would go to the Burrow for his birthday, but nobody was too shocked, and the few minor objections were quickly over-ruled. Then Dumbledore's face brightened, and people realised that yet again he had successfully manipulated them, knowing that they would reject no suggestion that appeared to be for Harry's own good, especially considering his forthcoming birthday. He spoke, and in a far more serious tone.

"These are worrying times, and I have a proposition, although it will involve a great sacrifice."

Dumbledore sat with his hands steepled, and his pale blue eyes staring out at the room.

"Let us make it appear that Harry is going to The Burrow, we can increase the wards and security there, and make some direct, ministry approved portkeys from Privet Drive directly. The Ministry will probably leak knowledge of them to Voldemort somehow, so he will be alerted to the fact that Harry is going to the Burrow. Fred and George I am sure could design, by tonight, some celebration decorations that would effectively work as weapons? What we shall do is bring everyone from the Burrow, and all of your belongings over here, belongings Severus and I can shrink effectively, so they are easily carried, and you all come over here, then Aurors can return to the Burrow with Polyjuice potion to disguise them as the Weaseley family."

Mr and Mrs Weaseley gasped, even as Fred and George exchanged a grin.

"Fred and George will have to go back with them, in order to decorate the house, then they must return here, to be replaced by a couple more aurors, who can put up the last of the decorations, possibly real ones. We will then send a guard to Privet Drive, along with myself. I will polyjuice as Harry there, and take a portkey to the Burrow, whilst the Guard must apparate straight here, taking Harry side-along, before entering."

Fred and George had themselves as the priority at this point, and one of them said. "We will return as ourselves. This is our battle". Dumbledore nodded sadly, even as Mrs Weasely shook her head. "They are overage" he said, and she bowed her head instead, unwilling to lose people from her family in this battle, but knowing that she had to let them go, or they wouldn't return to her.

"What will happen to The Burrow", she added, afraid, and Dumbledore responded sadly "It will be annihilated, and the order will pay for the rebuilding of it following the battle"."Where will we live," asked Mrs Weaseley, in an anxious tone. Dumbledore responded slightly more cheerfully"We have appointed Charlie to the post of assistant care of magical creatures teacher. I will ask him to be the secret keeper, and you will live here and at Hogwarts".

Arthur looked at his wife, and cast a privacy charm round them, so they could discuss in private all the implications of this.

"Grimmauld Place, if I am not mistaken, is now only one of Harry's properties, but I suspect warding them all would be out of place. I do not imagine for a second he would be unhappy to offer you the summer cottage, if you preferred not to rebuild The Burrow" added Dumbledore persuasively.

Lupin spoke up, anxious. "May I be in the guard on Harry?" and Dumbledore nodded benevolently. When Mr and Mrs Weaseley agreed, as he had been certain that they would when he began this manipulative plan, he announced,

"Diggle, Mr Weasely, Tonks, Mrs Weaseley, Shacklebolt, Ron Weaseley, Sprout, Ginny Weaseley, Pince, Hermione Granger. Now I knew Sprout and Pince aren't in the order, but they are both powerful witches, and I trust them to do well by the children."

Mrs Weaseley spoke up."Arthur and I want to be there, please" and Dumbledore agreed.

"That frees up Diggle and Tonks, so Tonks take Hermione, and Dedulus, Ginny, if you would?" The two Order members nodded, and so Dumbledore turned to Severus. "If you attack with the Dark Lord, try and cast non-fatal spells, please?" but Severus cast a glare on him. "I am not so cruel as to try and get my fellow fighters killed. I am Not Potter"

Dumbledore smiled dryly, and agreed. "Fred, George, go make dangerous decorations. Be sure to inform Severus what will attack, so he can avoid injury. Severus, tell Voldemort the plan to get Harry to the Burrow tonight. Molly: Minerva and I will come across with you, and help shrink and transport your possessions back here with us. Tonks, Diggle, Shacklebolt, come with us please, and bring the Polyjuice potion. Going to Privet Drive tonight will be me, Mad-Eye, Lupin, Bill, Charlie and Minerva. Does everyone understand?"

People murmered assent, even as the Weasely's looked uncomfortable about all the overage wizards in their family fighting in this minor battle, nay, diversion, and the group heading to The Burrow apparated off, following assurances from Dumbledore that if anything happened, Ron and Ginny would be well cared for. Severus touched his wand to the Dark Mark, and Lupin, Mad-Eye, Bill and Charlie sat together to discuss strategy. Very quickly, Hermione, Ron and Ginny, disguised as aurors, returned by floo, and Dumbledore smilingly told them as he stood gracefully from the fireplace that "the house wards happened to also mean that underage magic could happen safely on the premises, and that the ministry could not find out." Minerva looked disapproving at this blatant ignorance of the law, but said nothing.

They were pleased and at Hermione's suggestion set to work on the house, trying to make it a light, airy home for Harry, trying to make it different, clean, so it would remind him less of Sirius.

When they got there, laden with wizardspace bags apparently of clothes, but in fact containing all their possessions, Bill and Charlie took them and floo'd to Dumbledore's office where they left the bags, looking tired and tatty against the fragile splendour. The aurors stationed at the Burrow had a great time playing Quidditch, and behaving like children, even though they were apprehensive about the battle to be. Maybe everyone was, after all it was nothing if not understandable.

The crucial part of this plan was that Harry was to be kept in the dark as long as possible, not to risk Voldemort picking up on a dramatic change in his emotional state and attempting an attack before they were ready. Soon a silver patronus flew in from Fred, or George, not quite sure who, to let everybody know they were on their way to The Burrow to booby-trap it. Very excited to do so, as well, it was quite fun to do, and they had the chance to engage their fondness for destruction in a permitted way, as well as use their considerable talents to benefit the Order.

When they returned, they informed Severus, who had also returned, uninjured, and in Voldemort's good graces for the information, where the traps were, and what his safe path through the house would be, in order that he could remain uninjured. Everybody was in place.

Harry was still at Privet Drive, depressed and feeling lonely, his birthday had passed, with no celebration, and he had not eaten for three days. His stuff was neatly arranged in his trunk, he had been practising spells to pack effectively, hell, he had been practising every single spell he could consider, out of boredom, and he was sure he knew more even that Hermione now. He lay on his bed, reading a defence book and trying to forget his abandonment.

The polyjuice had worn off the real Ron, Ginny and Hermione, and they were busy cleaning the house, all the dangerous artefacts relegated to the attic, and only Sirius' bedroom left untouched by their attempts, some well founded ideas, and others less so. One of the people who had less bright ideas was Ron, who stood in the small garden outside, and yelled "accio dust". It was only a brisk bubblehead charm from Hermione that stopped this being a fatal accident, as the dust quickly buried him, but he escaped, and between the three of them, they managed to banish all of said dust.

Their cleaning spells continued, and they carried on working hard, finding constantly more rooms and passages, the house filled with wizardspace, ancient wizardspace, it had, after all, been a Black family residence for a long period of time. All the objects that tried to hurt or kill them ended in the attic, and all those that seemed of sentimental value went in a newly discovered room. Kreacher had disappeared, deep into a corner of the Dark attic, and seemed at home with everything that lay hidden there. The rooms that they discovered were very interesting, some Dark, some not so, and all pleasant.

What had seemed a disgusting place, was becoming what they had hoped for, and there seemed to be rooms that pleased all of them, including a well equipped potions laboratory, full of rare ingredients, and beautiful cauldrons, a massive room, as tall as the house, and twice as wide, it seemed, with the remains of Quidditch hoops on the ground, and some rough markings, that the three of them repaired and mended. There was a library, stocked with what seemed to be the entire Hogwarts restricted section, as well as the rest of the library, and many books even Hermione had no knowledge of, and a lovely indoor garden.

These discoveries shocked Hermione most, as she had never seen anything like it, but to Ron and Ginny, wizardspace was quite normal in old buildings, and it was that, if nothing else.

There were rooms full of dark artefacts, that the three left, and there was an ornate dining room. There was a room that was privacy guarded, with the strongest wards, that the Order could use, and that, in event of attack could be the last stronghold. and there was a room of hot water, in the floor, like a swimming bath. Best of all, in their opinions, was a proper duelling platform, where they could practise.

In short, this tatty house was beginning to look like a pureblood wizarding family home. It had been cleaned, and was neat, and the Dark rooms had a green neon splash on their door, along with the attic, to warn people not to enter, and to show the adult wizards what there was that they could deal with.

There were rooms for everyone to sleep, Severus, who was staying, it seemed, Lupin, who had no other place to live, Mr and Mrs Weaseley (there was even a dedicated workshop room for Mr Weaseley), Bill, Charlie, Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny, There were six or seven spare bedrooms, the largest of which was made into a tight ten-bedded hospital room, with a bedroom-office for the presiding mediwitch. Hermione was amazed, she had known of wizardspace, but not comprehended it to this extent, this much space in such a tiny house. It was still tatty, and the three were exhausted, but it was a lot cleaner, and they knew that what was left any decent witch or wizard, with a basic knowledge of household spells could repair.

Dumbledore and Minerva had returned, and were ready to set off as Harry's guard, and the Order had been warned. It was 6:30pm, and Voldemort was expecting to attack The Burrow, they had heard, at about 7pm. The guard, Minerva, Dumbledore, Lupin, Charlie, Bill and Mad-Eye, apparated across, and knocked on the door, dressed in muggle clothing, so as not to concern anyone, and when Vernon opened the door splutteringly angry at their appearance, they swept past him, and up to Harry's room.

Bill put his hand on the doorknob, attempting entrance, and was shocked when the door glowed green, and threw him into the hall wall. Dumbledore smiled, "It's not often that a Gringotts curse-breaker is outwitted by a student entering 6th year", and after a moment of anger, Bill smiled as well, and he and Charlie raised wands to open the door, having discerned that touching it in any way activated the defensive wards. Harry could hear voices outside, and he was shrunk into a corner, anxious, until he heard Lupin call his name, upon which he cancelled all the wards, recognising his former teachers voice, and watched them come in, beaming with relief, although his eyes remained sad.

The wards at the Burrow were lowered by Mr Weaseley, as if expecting someone to apparate in, and Dumbledore downed his polyjuice, watched by Harry's baffled eyes, and headed downstairs, followed by the real Harry, and smashed the lounge wall with a powerful spell that showed the fireplace. He threw floo powder into the fireplace, saying "The Burrow", as the clock struck 7pm, and Harry looked at the others, who grabbed him, and were about to, clearly side-along apparate him, to the Burrow, he assumed, following Dumbledore, when an crash was heard, and the front wall of the house crumbled.


End file.
